


Spiral Pirate Silent Record

by Benjinator12



Category: One Piece
Genre: Action/Adventure, Battle, Gen, Submarines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benjinator12/pseuds/Benjinator12
Summary: To brave the waves of the Grand Line is one thing... to brave its depths is another. The Spiral Pirates and their submarine, the Revenge Spiral, patrol that deadly sea to find their dreams. But sometimes, when diving deep, something finds you instead. Nemo Surcouf and her crew are about to plunge into uncharted territory... will they make it to the surface in one piece?
Kudos: 1





	1. Calm Belt Attack! Spiral Pirates Surface!

Dead. That was the only appropriate word. The air was still and clammy, and the constant sun through the unclouded sky made it only more unbearable. The sea was tamer than he had ever seen, looking more like the surface of a pond than an ocean. The horizon stretched out to the edges of his vision without betraying the silhouette of land or any other ships to break that stillness, to keep him company in that dead stretch of ocean. 

“Hey, rookie, quit staring,” said the bosun, slapping his shoulder and snapping him out of his trance.

“S-sorry, sir,” he replied, returning his attention to the rigging. He continued winding the rope into its storage spools.

“It’s just your first Calm Belt. You’ll see more, but only if we get the sails stowed fast. Let’s move,” said the officer. The rookie nodded and redoubled his efforts, and within a few minutes the sails were tucked away. It was only a matter of firing up the boiler to get them moving again.

A mechanic crawled up from below deck, covered in grime. “It won’t light,” he said, fear lingering in his voice. The bosun cursed under his breath and turned to head for the stairs. 

“Rookie, if you want to stare at the sea, now’s your chance. Consider yourself on watch. If you see anything while I’m down there helping those bozos out, you let the rest of the crew know.”

“Y-yessir,” the rookie said, eagerly turning his attention back to the surreal sea. Everything about their current situation was terrible, but watching the sea was mesmerising-- and the little he could do to help, now. The deck hardly moved beneath his feet as he scanned his surroundings again. It was amazing how much the ocean began to feel like a true stretch of nothing once the wind and waves were gone. It was simply still hot air and warm water out to eternity, except for the lady on the water.

The rookie checked again-- no, she stood right there, on top of the water like it was a floor, maybe one hundred and fifty meters from the port side. He leaned part of the way over the gunwale to get a better look. She was slender and her skin was a dark tan. Her hair was cut short and wild, framing her intense face like a small black stormcloud. She wore a tailored vest that exposed muscular arms, and her pants were heavy-looking military fatigues. A large carabiner was slipped under one of her belt loops, attached to a line that disappeared into the sea below her. As he stared, she looked up and locked eyes with him.

“The ship is from South Blue, right?”

He stood, silent. It seemed as though the entire world had stopped for her to ask the question. 

“It’s full of Wapometal, isn’t it? Hey, are you listening?”

He didn’t know if he should say anything and if he did he felt like his answer would be wrong or improper in some way. He didn’t want to say something insulting to a sea nymph or whatever she was, but she clearly wanted an answer.

“It’s… it’s full of Wapometal, yes. From the Black Drum Kingdom,” he replied.

“All right. Since you’re a civilian, go tell the rest of your crew that I’m about to sink the ship. Find your lifeboats and start rowing. You don’t want to be out on the Calm Belt any longer than you have to.”

The rookie felt a chill. Had she really just said that? Was she going to sink the ship? And how? He stumbled backwards from the gunwale. He had to tell somebody. Or maybe he shouldn’t--  _ if _ she really attacked and sink the ship, they’d blame him, and  _ if she didn’t _ he’d look like a fool. His indecision locked him in place. Maybe, he thought, maybe he could just ask her to  _ not _ attack. He could keep it between them. Nobody would have to know. He leaned over the gunwale once more. She was gone. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and off his nose into the sea below. Somehow, the heat felt like the least of his problems.

* * *

“Well?” asked Holland, his small round ears perking up as the captain clambered back down into the conn. “It was Wapometal, wasn’t it?”

Hanima rolled her eyes from her seat at the helm. “It’s kind of a pointless game, don’t you think? The ship’s from Black Drum, it’s flying the flag and everything. Of course it’s carrying Wapometal.”

“No, it’s carrying axes, lots of axes,” Alberich protested. 

“It’s Wapometal,” said the captain, stepping into the center of the conn. She flicked her finger across the vacant carabiner on her fatigues as she grabbed the lever on the metal tube in front of her and pulled upwards. The tube in the center of the conn rose upwards, retracting into the ceiling and revealing the eyepiece, which the captain settled her face into.

“Yeah, suck it,” Holland cheered, holding out an open paw to Alberich. Alberich sighed and fished out the coins from his pocket, which the rat mink greedily grabbed.

“How do you always win this?” the warrior sighed.

“I read the paper,” Holland said with a grin. “You know, keeping up with world events? It’s not a bad thing to do when you’re a pirate.”

Alberich scratched his beard. “I dunno. I never read the paper and I think I’m doing just fine as a pirate.”

Holland’s ear twitched in annoyance. “I can’t believe it. You’re so dumb that you’re talking in circles.”

“You two done?” asked the captain, slowly walking the eyepiece in a circle. She turned the grip on her right hand side and zoomed the periscope in on the cargo ship. She checked the bearing and backed out of the eyepiece, flipping the lever down and causing the tube to retract back into the floor. 

“Sure are, captain Surcouf,” Holland said, counting his new coin. “Ah, this is gonna be perfect for shore leave.”

“True warriors don’t need money for shore leave,” Alberich countered.

“Battlestations,” said Surcouf, and her crew scampered to their posts. She picked up her transponder snail and opened a channel to the sonar booth. “Boyle, any contacts?”

“If we just opened the Seastone hull I could use my abilities to tell you,” Boyle whined. 

“We’re in the Calm Belt, Boyle. If we open the Seastone hull, we’re Sea King chow. Give me one ping.”

“Aye, captain,” Boyle lamented. A single, high-pitched burst echoed through the cabin of the ship. 

“Just one contact, likely biologic, bearing one-five-three, at ten kiloyards. Distance constant.”

“If it’s not hungry, we’ve got the time we need. We’ll send out another ping after the attack,” said Surcouf, closing the channel. She opened another to the torpedo room. “Whitehead, what do we have loaded?”

“Response: All four tubes are ready with C-KING Type A weapons.”

“All right. Fire tube one, high speed, bearing zero-zero-three.”

“Confirmation: Firing tube one, aye,” replied Whitehead’s soft monotone. 

A heavy clank was followed by a low whoosh as the tube opened and flooded. 

“Torpedo in the water,” said Boyle’s voice over the transponder. Surcouf reached into her pocket and removed a stopwatch, which she clicked on. At this range, it would only take seconds.

“I think there’s still gonna be an axe,” said Alberich, donning his swimming goggles.

Surcouf watched the hands of her stopwatch. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. A blast of thunder rolled through the interior of their vessel, followed by a torturous metal groan.

“That’s impact,” said Boyle. 

Surcouf flipped the lever back up and grabbed the controls of the periscope as it returned to eye level. A quick scan of the surface showed that the Black Drum steamer had been split down the middle. Only a handful of lifeboats paddled away-- it wasn’t her fault that civilians rarely paid heed to her warnings. Sure, she could surface the boat and meet them head on and yell at the top of her lungs that she was about to attack, but then they’d just attempt to run the  _ Revenge Spiral _ over, and she wouldn’t put it past some of the idiot captains she’d come across to pull it off. Kindness wasn’t a key to survival on the Grand Line. 

“Surface the boat,” she said, and Hanima shouted back an affirmative. The compressed air wheezed out the ballast, and the vessel lurched upwards. Alberich clambered up to the hatch, and Hanima and Surcouf followed. They exited from the conning tower, and Surcouf was quick to snap her carabiner back on to the safety line as she walked out on the deck. The cargo ship’s two halves were taking on water, beginning to slump towards each other as they sank. Loose debris littered the water, including a few floating crates. 

“I bet the axes all went underwater,” Alberich said, lowering himself into a diving stance.

“While you’re down there, look for some of the Wapometal. Holland and Whitehead could use that,” said the captain, sitting down on the deck. 

“Sure, sure,” Alberich said, diving in.

“I guess I’ll take the floating crates,” said Hanima, nudging Surcouf as she jumped into the water.

“I’d help you if I could,” Surcouf replied, “but you know I can’t swim.”

“Yeah, yeah, because of that lousy Devil Fruit of yours,” Hanima chuckled, treading water. “Just imagine all the work I’d get out of if I ate one of those. No more salvaging.”

“Yeah, just imagine,” said Surcouf, kicking back against the conning tower. The sea water was warm, but it was refreshing compared to the stale recirculated air inside the  _ Revenge Spiral _ . A single, bare wisp of a cloud hung still overhead, the absence of wind locking it in place. Boots clanked up through the conning tower behind her, and Boyle’s head poked over the surface bridge above her.

“Captain, we have contacts!” he cried, his raised voice causing a droplet of spittle to land on her forehead. Surcouf pushed herself back up and wiped it off.

“What are they and where?”

“More biologics-- they’re Sea Kings, d-drawn here by the sinking of that ship!” he stammered.

“Bearing and range?”

“Seven kiloyards and closing, at two-two-one, one-nine-four, and one-five-three!”

Surcouf nodded. “All right. That will be all, Boyle.”

“Are you… are you going to do something? Alberich and Hanima are in danger!”

Surcouf looked out at the debris field. The water split next to the bow as Alberich emerged carrying a massive crate on his shoulders.

“So it’s just full of some dumb metal,” he sighed. “No axes.”

“Ah, well,” said Surcouf. “Keep looking.”

“You got it,” said the man as he dove back under.

Boyle warped his face in confusion and embarrassment. “You’re not even going to tell him?”

“No,” said Surcouf, sidling around to the rear of the conning tower. She ascended the ladder until she stood on the surface bridge with Boyle. She then nonchalantly leaned against the inner edge of the bridge and closed her eyes.

“And now you’re going to  _ sleep? _ ”

“Just resting my eyes. Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes it is, when sea monsters are about to eat us!”

Surcouf looked up from under her bangs at Boyle. “What sea monsters?”

In the distance behind them, the ocean exploded. Three towering pillars of foam erupted from the still water, and three colossal, serpentine creatures flew up with them, blood staining the bubbles pink. They crashed down into the open sea, their giant voices releasing a final bellow of agony.

Despite the muggy air, Boyle’s sweat ran cold. He turned back to Surcouf, who had closed her eyes again.

“Every member of this crew has a job to do, Boyle,” she said. “As captain, my job isn’t just to make decisions. It’s to protect everyone so that they can do  _ their _ jobs. Understand?”

“Y-yes, captain,” said Boyle with a gulp. “I guess I’ll go back to the sonar booth then?”

“Put on a safety clip and start unloading the crates,” she said, pointing down to the deck.

“Of course,” he replied, feigning a grin. Inside, he was nearly snarling. It was almost as if she had planned it, or if she had known ahead of time. He hooked a carabiner through his belt loops and lowered himself down the ladder onto the deck. Prying open the first crate, he took an armful of metal ingots. He frowned as he clambered up the ladder and down the hatch into the  _ Revenge Spiral _ . There were times when she was unpleasant, sure, but she did come through on her claim of protecting the rest of the crew. In a way, he supposed she was one of the few things keeping him from dying in their tiny metal coffin of a ship. Her, and himself, of course. For all of her showing off, she needed him to run the sonar and hydrophone. He set the Wapometal ingots down into their storage bin in the engineering compartment and smiled at the thought. No, it wasn’t such a raw deal after all. If all he had to put up with was a slightly irritating captain and a little manual labor here and there, then the pirate life was plenty cushy for him. 

Holland entered the engineering compartment with his oversized tool kit in tow. “AC’s out. We’re going to need a new compressor,” said the rat mink.

Boyle sighed. Maybe not  _ plenty _ cushy. 

* * *

Surcouf wiped a drip of sweat from her forehead with her wrist before it fell onto the chart below. Hanima would be furious if it were damaged.

“Simply put, if we don’t get a new compressor, we’ll go insane,” Hanima explained. “But we’re currently not near any islands we could stop to supply at, and our current Pose reading won’t help us either. There’s not a good way out of our current situation without deviating from our path and losing progress.”

Surcouf reached up and clicked off the map light, as its incandescent bulb only made the heat worse. The map wasn’t doing them any good, anyway. 

“Well, there is one option,” the captain said, moving away from the chart table. “After our last convoy raid, a Marine rescue party arrived to pick up survivors. They had to be deployed from somewhere nearby.”

Hanima frowned. “You don’t mean...”

Surcouf stopped and flipped out an extendible shelf. The racks within were lined with Marine-branded Eternal Poses, and the captain picked up one with a steady needle.

“It’s G-11,” she said. “A facility of that size will have what we need, easily.”

Hanima slammed a fist down on her map. “Are you honestly suggesting that we raid the Marines for a damn air conditioner?”

“Yeah,” said Surcouf flatly.

Hanima wheeled out her chair and sat on it backwards, resting her elbows on the back. 

“Why is it that every time there’s an opportunity for us to leave things behind, you always want to rush back and cause trouble?”

Surcouf flipped the rack of Eternal Poses closed, and looked over her shoulder at her navigator.

“When I close my eyes, I can still see that island burning, Hanima. And I didn’t do anything.”

“What else were you supposed to do, Nemo? It was a Buster Call. If we had abandoned our post then, our ship would have been destroyed.”

“That’s exactly what eats me up,” said Surcouf, crossing her arms while looking down at the deck below. “In that moment, I decided my life was more important than everyone on that island. They put us in that spot, and they put every marine in that spot. That’s why I’ll never forgive them.”

Hanima offered a weak smile. “I guess all that anger makes the pirate life suit you.”

“Heh, now, I don’t know if the pirate life will ever suit me,” Surcouf chuckled. 

“Do you think we can get in and out of G-11 without any problems?”

“In and out, yes,” Surcouf said, moving back to the chart. She found a rough estimate of their current position, and pulled her finger across to the small, featureless blob on the map marked G-11. “As for problems, I plan to make some.”


	2. Attack and Counterattack! Aronnax and Unifying Justice!

Whitehead dragged a small finger over a protruding piece of piping above the bulkhead separating the forward quarters from the conn. It came away dripping in water.

“Observation: Interior humidity continues to rise,” she said curtly.

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Hanima remarked, handing their South Bird a palmful of seed. The creature happily ate its food and cooed with content. “But we’re well within the island’s climate zone now. Ambient water temperature is down to twenty-seven degrees.”

“I’ve got a visual now,” said Surcouf, slowly turning around the periscope. “Looks like we’re only a couple miles out. One… no, two Marine ships on patrol. Shouldn’t be hard to sneak up to them.” She stepped away and lowered the periscope back into the deck. 

“I assume you’ve got a plan for this ridiculous operation?” said Boyle, wheeling himself out of the sonar booth on his chair.

“No battle on the field of honor is ridiculous,” said Alberich, entering with a tray from the mess. 

“I do have a plan,” said Surcouf, grabbing the transponder snail. “Holland, get in here.”

The rat mink crawled through the bulkhead from the rear quarters, his fur matted with engine oil. He pulled a rag from his belt and wiped himself down, though this did little to improve his appearance. 

“Ah, crew meeting, wonderful,” he grunted. “I was looking forward to a break. You’re going to get me that new compressor?”

Nemo Surcouf moved to the center of the conn to address her crew. 

“That’s the idea. We’re on approach to Marine Base G-11 now. It’s a Winter Island, and snow is reducing visibility. It may not be pleasant, but it’s a boon for us. We’re going to have to land a team and scout the base for their own central heating and cooling machinery, which we’ll cannibalize the parts from. But since we don’t know the layout of the base, a stealth operation is likely to fail.”

“Now this sounds interesting,” said Alberich, scooping up a spoonful of mashed potato.

“Oh, boy,” sighed Boyle, rolling his eyes.

“First, we’ll close distance until we’re in the shallows. We’ll then launch a torpedo attack on the patrol vessels. While rest of G-11 scrambles to save their comrades, we’ll slip around behind the island, where we’ll insert the land team. That’ll be me, Whitehead, Holland, and Alberich,” said Surcouf. 

“You can count on me, captain,” roared Alberich, slamming a fist to his chest with bravado.

“Acknowledgement: Standing by and ready for duty,” said Whitehead.

“Somebody’s got to wrench on their machines, right?” Holland added with a shrug.

Surcouf nodded. “All right. I’ll keep a mobile transponder snail with us. While we’re ashore, Hanima and Boyle will keep the boat hidden-- once we give the call that we have the parts we need, you surface and we bail out of here at flank speed.”

“I think we can manage that,” said Hanima. 

“Leaving the hard part to you guys? Sounds perfect to me,” added Boyle. 

“I’m going to make sure a pipe springs a leak above your bunk, Boyle,” growled Holland. 

“Okay, you’re all up to speed on the plan. Battlestations, everyone,” commanded Surcouf. The crew spread out throughout the boat, taking their positions. Surcouf exhaled slowly and placed a hand against the periscope’s housing. It was the best possible plan for their admittedly dire situation. She couldn’t do anything more. And yet, an uncharacteristic fear persisted within her. This operation was balanced on the edge of a very sharp knife. A failure here could doom their entire voyage. But she was confident in herself and the abilities of her crew, so what was the source of her anxiety? A premonition? No, that kind of thing couldn’t exist. Even observation haki didn’t work like that, at least as far as she understood it. She shook her head and ignored it. They would fight through whatever happened, just like they always had.

* * *

Visegrip looked down from his oversized desk to the ensign that had just barged into his office. He twisted off a leg from the steamed crab on his plate and idly broke the shell open with his thumb.

“I’m eating right now,” he growled. 

“Of course, sir,” said the ensign. “But we’ve just received a call from Headquarters-- they’re performing a surprise inspection. A Vice-Admiral is headed this way now.”

“Hmmmmm,” gurgled Visegrip. He grabbed the exposed crabmeat with his teeth and pulled the flesh free of the busted shell, scarfing the meat down. “Well, it’s a surprise,” he sighed.

“Um, yes, sir, Commodore Visegrip,” said the ensign. 

“Well, there’s no sense in getting worked up, then,” said the Commodore. “It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. And even if we were, we couldn’t clean things up in time.”

“That’s… a good point,” the ensign admitted.

Visegrip turned his attention back to his steamed crab. “Make sure to let everyone know. That will be all.”

The marine saluted. “Yes, sir, Commodore Visegrip,” he said, before departing from the commodore’s office. Visegrip rose from his desk and turned to face the view of G-11’s bay from his window. The snow was still falling, part of a front that was expected to continue throughout the week. Most base commanders would loathe such a position, but not him. It was a quiet assignment, especially for a Grand Line base. They were far from the petty politics of Headquarters here, and the weather might have been bad, but it was predictable. It was a comfortable life, one well-earned by his hard service years before. This inspection was nothing to fear. Though he wondered why Headquarters was sending an inspection when they were  _ supposed _ to pick up the prisoner they had left for them to keep. He had been told they would be transferred to Impel Down, so why they were letting them sit in their brig was a mystery. That was a question for the Vice-Admiral, when they arrived. Visegrip found his plan satisfactory, and tossed the entirety of the remaining crab into his mouth. He looked out into the snowy bay as he crunched it down. 

* * *

“Oh, not again.”

“Is this what he called us out here for?”

“He shouldn’t do something like that.”

“It’s the Vice-Admiral, out on the bowsprit!”

“Is he crazy?”

“Fools,” said Land, emerging onto the deck. The gathered marines turned, and upon seeing her, immediately parted for her to pass. She rested a palm on the topmost hit of her left-hand swords. “Were your orders to come out here and mock him?”

“N-no, Commander Land,” stammered a Marine. “We just didn’t expect to see him out there.”

Pierce Land looked ahead to the forecastle. At the very tip of the bowsprit, the Vice-Admiral’s coat waved in the icy breeze.

“If your leader asks you to listen, you listen. Your actions are an extension of their ideals,” said Land, walking towards the forecastle. “If you don’t care what your leader says, are they even your leader?”

“Thank you, Land, but you must forgive them. After all, this vessel, and this crew, are brand new,” said the Vice-Admiral from his perch on the bowsprit. “Though that’s precisely why I called for this assembly.”

Land crossed her arms. “Listen to his words well, Marines.”

“I have something of a dream. A far-off fantasy if you will,” the Vice-Admiral explained. “I wish that the seas of this world were crystal clear.”

The commander smiled-- she had heard the speech before, and every time it warmed her heart. 

“I wish that every man, woman, and child could look out into the water and see to the bottom, all the way to the horizon. Do you know why?”

The marines murmured to themselves, but none of them dared answer.

“It’s because they would see that we are all connected. The islands rise from the sea floor. They are not many, but  _ one _ . And yet, those who dwell on those islands see each other as enemies and foreigners. Hundreds of years ago, our ancestors saw through to the bottom of the ocean, and in that clarity, they founded the World Government to rightfully unite us all. As Marines, we exist to hold that union together. Even as pirates and revolutionary filth pollute the waters of our glorious seas, we must unite this world with Justice!”

The marines nodded, and a few clapped and cheered. The Vice-Admiral crouched down and backflipped off the bowsprit, landing on the deck. This prompted more cheers, but he halted them with an outstretched hand. 

“Now, that will be all. You may return to your posts.”

Land took her place at his side. 

“An excellent speech, as always, Vice-Admiral Aronnax,” she said. 

“Ah, you flatter me, Commander Land,” he replied. “But our mission is not one of ideals today. No, it is rather… pragmatic.”

“The inspection of G-11?”

“Let’s just say that the inspection is something of a cover,” Aronnax whispered.

“I see. The cargo ship destroyed in the Calm Belt--”

“It has to be her,” he said, his brow furrowed as he moved toward the cabin. “And G-11 would be her next stop-- I’ve been chasing her for years. I’d like to think I know her better than she knows herself.”

“Then we have no time to lose,” Land concurred. “I’ll tell the helm full steam ahead.”

“Thank you, Land,” said Aronnax. “With any luck, the story of Nemo Surcouf ends today.”

* * *

Snow had begun collecting on the outer edge of Visegrip’s winter coat, but that was to be expected in this weather. He was used to it-- it had almost stopped feeling cold at all. The marines had assembled in neat files to salute their guests, and Visegrip stood at the end of the line, ready for his own salute. The ship had only just arrived, but its crew was working fast to allow their officers to depart. It was a steam frigate, its hull thin and angular compared to most navy vessels, which were built for stability rather than speed. Its great steam engines groaned and hissed loud enough to be heard all the way at the base’s entrance. Two figures appeared as silhouettes in the snowy mist ahead, marching towards them with fervor. The marines straightened their stances as the Vice-Admiral passed returning their salutes curtly. He was a young man with a lean build and intense features, half-buzzed hair and a soul patch. His companion was a similarly-young woman with long, sharpened bangs extending forwards at a sharp angle. She wore a low ranking seaman’s uniform opened to expose a swimsuit underneath-- it certainly did not look like it would be comfortable in this weather, but Visegrip didn’t see a point in complaining. On either side of her hips, a bundle of three katanas were tied in place. They certainly  _ looked _ the part of headquarters hot-shots. 

Visegrip gave a salute. 

“Vice-Admiral, sir,” he said. 

“Aronnax,” the young man replied. 

“Vice-Admiral Aronnax, welcome,” Visegrip corrected himself. “And you are?”

“Commander Pierce Land,” said the woman, saluting back to Visegrip.

“A pleasure to have you both. If you’re here for an inspection, I’ll let you lead the way.”

“Actually, there’s a matter I’d like to discuss in private,” said Aronnax. 

“Then please, join me in my office,” Visegrip offered, leading the way. While they followed behind him, he mulled over the possibilities. Reprimands and demotions were usually handled publicly, and, as he reminded himself, he hadn’t done anything wrong. His face lit up when he realized it was almost certainly to do with the prisoner. He continued to lead them to his office, but an astute observer would have detected slightly more enthusiasm in his step than before. He opened the door for them, and the guests obliged.

“Take a seat, please,” Visegrip said, gesturing to plush chairs tucked into a corner of the room.

“No, thank you,” said Aronnax. “To be honest, this is rather urgent.”

Visegrip had halfway rounded his desk to sit in his own chair when the words stopped him. “Oh, well, go ahead. What is it?” 

“Pirates,” Aronnax intoned. Land reached into her top and extracted a tightly-rolled packet of bounty posters, which she unfurled in dramatic fashion. 

“Pirates?” repeated Visegrip, unsure exactly of where the Vice-Admiral was going.

“If my calculations are correct, they are in the vicinity of this island this very moment. These ruffians are the Spiral Pirates, founded by Marine defectors-- they’re not your typical riffraff,” Aronnax explained.

“I-I’ve never heard of them,” said Visegrip.

Land cut in. “Then allow us to introduce them for you.” She tapped on the first bounty poster, which pictured a fair-skinned man in a blue leisure suit, recoiling from the camera. 

“Channel Boyle, at 63,000,000 belly. He’s known to have underworld connections and has worked in unsanctioned espionage against the World Government,” Aronnax explained. Land paged to the next bounty poster, portraying an anthropomorphic rat slinging a wrench towards the photographer.

“Longtail Holland, at 89,000,000 belly. He’s a burglar and has stolen top-secret documents from our shipwrights around the world. He’s enlisted by the Spiral Pirates as a mechanic.”

“A Mink,” noted Visegrip aloud. Land turned to the next poster, which showed what appeared to be a human child with a dull expression on her face and a neatly-trimmed, snow-white bob of hair. Aronnax continued his narration.

“EPX-3 ‘Whitehead,’ at 146,000,000 belly. A cyborg created for heavy industry and security by the World Government’s scientist, and reprogrammed by the defectors. Her databanks contain plans for prototype warships for the Marines.”

“Oh, my,” said Visegrip.

“We’re getting serious now,” said Land, flipping to the next poster. It showed a burly man with a short, braided beard and layered leather armor hefting what appeared to be a truly oversized dagger over his shoulder. 

“This one is Alberich Nibelung, the so-called ‘smallest giant.’ He’s a human that was raised by the giants of Elbaf, and seems to have joined the crew purely to satiate some thirst for combat. His bounty sits at 298,000,000 belly.” With theatrical flair, Land pulled Alberich’s poster away to reveal the next, which showed a woman with long, dark hair inspecting a customized flintlock rifle with bayonet. Interestingly, she wore a full Marine uniform with coat, indicating a relatively high rank. 

“Hanima Kretschmer, former Marine Captain. Defected from her post and stole valuable intelligence and materiel from a classified shipbuilding project. She’s trained in the Rokushiki arts and is a skilled sharpshooter as well. Her bounty is at 350,000,000 belly. All of them are subordinates to the real threat here. Land, if you please,” asked Aronnax. Land nodded and unveiled the final bounty poster. Piercing eyes glared out from underneath a wild shock of short dark hair, as the woman stood on the forecastle of a Marine battleship with her Vice-Admiral’s coat fluttering behind her in the wind. 

“Nemo Surcouf, former Marine Vice-Admiral. She defected from her post to wage a personal war against the Marines seven years ago. She’s commanding an extremely-advanced submersible prototype that she stole from a clandestine government project. She was near the top of her class in training, and she’s an expert in naval tactics, as well as a powerful combatant on foot. Her bounty is currently 452,000,000 belly.”

Visegrip took a moment to collect his thoughts. “So… you’re saying I’m harboring them?”

Aronnax stepped back, and barked out a short, stilting laugh. “Oh, no, no, no, not at all. It’s not your fault that they’re here. They are particularly elusive.”

The commodore narrowed his eyes. “You seem particularly certain that they’re here, but I have yet to see any evidence from you on this.”

The Vice-Admiral folded his hands behind his back. “Ah, but you see, Commodore Visegrip, I’ve been tracking her ever since she betrayed the Marines those seven years ago. I’ve spent those years learning how to atone for her since. I have learned how to drive justice into the abyss. Recently, a trade vessel from the Black Drum Kingdom was attacked by an unknown and apparently invisible assailant in the Calm Belt. However, no further attacks have been reported in the area. She would keep preying on innocent merchants if she could, but she isn’t, which means something is limiting her performance. She will need to stop for supplies or repairs, and your base is the nearest and richest deposit of both.”

“That’s a nice theory, but you still don’t have any--”

“Proof?” asked Aronnax.

“Of course that’s what I was going to say,” growled Visegrip.

“Take a look,” said the Vice-Admiral, pointing towards the window. Visegrip turned, his eyes immediately drawn to the two plumes of smoke rising from the patrol ships burning in the bay.

“N-no,” Visegrip whispered. “You’re serious.”

“Their raiding party will be ashore very soon,” Land explained. “You should muster your troops to stop them.”

Visegrip turned to ask his Headquarters guests a question, but they had already stormed out of the room. He had a suspicion his life was about to become much less comfortable.


	3. The Raid Begins! The Crushing Crab-Crab Fruit!

With a splash, the rowboat slipped back into the dark water. The tarp wrapped above it already had begun to collect snow.

“In about five minutes, it’ll be invisible out here,” said Holland. “Speaking of which, do you have a timescale once we’re inside?”

Nemo looked up towards the high turrets of G-11, as snow began to stick to the edges of her cold-weather coat.

“The base is designed to guard the bay, which makes this side the rear. It’s likely that their heating systems will be close by once we get in. You and Whitehead should be able to manage that.”

Holland wrinkled his snout. “You say that like you two aren’t going to help at all.”

“There’s something I’m looking for that might be at this base,” Nemo explained, turning her back to her crewmates. “And I’m sure Alberich wants to challenge their guards directly.”

“It’s been too long since I had a worthy battle,” chuckled Alberich, planting his weapon, the Jotun Dagger, in the ground. The weapon was taller than he was-- Holland had no idea how a human could sling something like that around casually, but Alberich made it look easy. 

“Fine, you two go and have fun,” groaned Holland. “But remember that Whitehead and I are going after the parts for the compressor. If something goes wrong for us, this whole operation is a bust.”

“Well, you do have Whitehead with you. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” said Nemo with a wink.

Holland gritted his teeth. “What’s that supposed to mean about me, huh?”

“Mission: Acknowledged,” said Whitehead solemnly.

“Oh, sure, everything’s fine for  _ you _ ,” Holland grumbled. 

“All right, let’s go,” said Nemo, waving them on. Alberich ripped the Jotun Dagger out of the ground. The landing party marched onwards to the base’s outer wall, a low brick structure.

“If I may, captain,” said Alberich, stepping forward.

“Have at it,” said Nemo, pulling her hat down to shield her eyes. Alberich widened his stance, and brought his weapon to the ready. 

“Uruz,” he exhaled, as crumbled brick spat out from the wall towards them. A vertical section of the wall leaned backwards and then smashed to the ground, cut cleanly from the rest of the bricks. Nemo gave Alberich a nod of approval and the team moved through. Holland checked the inside of the cut as they passed-- the bricks glowed with heat. It was impressive, to be sure, but all of them could have simply jumped or climbed over the wall. Then again, perhaps it was more effective as a show of force for would-be pursuers. He shrugged internally. It was less work for him anyway, and there wasn’t any good in complaining over that. 

They crossed through the yard unimpeded. A small watchtower meant for scanning the sea behind the base was deserted, but for safety’s sake Surcouf ordered that it be destroyed too. It took Alberich a handful of seconds before the brick fortification had collapsed. They quickly located an entrance, a wooden double-door. The hum of machinery could be heard just beyond it.

“We must be really close,” Holland said. “This might even be maintenance access.”

“Good,” said Surcouf, kicking the doors in. A corridor stretched out ahead of them, with markings for sectors painted on the walls. “I’ll leave you and Whitehead to it.” 

The rat mink and the cyborg juked left at the first intersection, while Surcouf and Alberich headed straight onwards. The corridor opened up into a large storeroom, with provisions and supplies stacked on either side of the center path.

“Might be worth taking some of this,” Alberich suggested, surveying a palette of barrels labelled as salt pork. 

“Definitely, if we can spare the time and effort,” said Surcouf.

“You think we won’t cut through the whole base?” the man chuckled.

“I don’t know,” the captain mused. “I’ve just got a--” She paused, and held a hand up to Alberich. The warrior nodded and held a finger to his lips to indicate he understood. Surcouf had heard it, only briefly, as she was speaking. Someone nearby had inhaled sharply, which Surcouf surmised was a response to their presence. Surcouf adjusted her footing and advanced up the pathway, finding a gap in the crates, barrels, and sacks. A small alcove had been formed on the bottom shelf by the removal of some provisions. Against the back wall, a set of shackles had been hastily secured to the wall. A humanoid figure was bound in the chains, obscured by the shadows of the shelves above. 

“Don’t kill me,” it whispered.

“Well, you haven’t given me much reason to do that yet,” said the captain. She squatted down to the prisoner’s level. “Alberich, go on ahead. I’m sure you’ll find a nice fight.”

“Aye, captain,” said the man, who charged down the pathway out of the storeroom.

The prisoner scooted forwards, their chains clinking across the bare concrete floor. “You’re… pirates?”

Surcouf lowered herself further until she sat on the floor across from the prisoner, and flashed a smile into the shadows. “Don’t hold it against me,” she snickered. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

The prisoner rattled their chains. “I’m at your mercy anyway.”

“I’ll try not to be unreasonable,” said Surcouf. “If they’ve got you locked up down here, they don’t have much of a brig at this base, do they?”

“No,” said the prisoner. “As far as I understand, this base mostly resupplies Navy patrol ships.”

“That makes sense,” said Surcouf. “Now, could you tell me  _ why _ you’re locked up down here?”

“I wish I could,” the prisoner shrugged. “I did my job, and the navy arrested me for it.”

Nemo Surcouf folded her hands in her lap. She had a vested interest in the incompetence and hypocrisy of the Marines, so she was eager to hear the story. “Go on,” she encouraged the prisoner.

“I’m an oceanographer. I was contracted by the navy to investigate some ships that had been lost at sea. They assumed it was a surprise current or a non-biological phenomena. But my research into the wrecks showed evidence that the ships had been destroyed by, well, a living thing. I was only reporting my initial findings when CP-3 showed up and dragged me here. I was told I’d be transferred to Impel Down-- I don’t know what I did wrong.”

The captain stood up, dusting off her fatigues. 

“That sounds like a real mystery. Want to come with me and solve it?”

“I’ve never considered becoming a pirate,” said the prisoner.

“I’ll tell you this much-- it beats rotting in Impel Down.”

The chains creaked as the prisoner pulled them taut, crawling as far into the light as they could. A pair of large, dark eyes glittered up towards Surcouf, surrounded by slick pale red skin. 

“Th-thank you,” she gasped. “I’m Sepia.”

“Nemo Surcouf,” said the captain, gesturing to herself. “I’ll get you out of those chains, but I hope you don’t mind if we make a few stops before we leave.”

“I don’t mind at all,” said Sepia with a smile.

* * *

Alberich planted the Jotun Dagger through the tile flooring. He surveyed the room-- Marines huddled behind long tables and benches that they had flipped forwards as makeshift barricades. A counter at the end of the room suggested that he had reached a mess hall.

“Good,” he mused aloud. “I was getting hungry.”

An officer poked up from behind a table, clutching a rifle. “Open fire on him now!”

The gathered marines followed their orders, propping their weapons up on the sides of the overturned tables. Alberich lifted his weapon from the ground and turned the flat of the blade towards his attackers. A hail of bullets ricocheted off the oversized dagger, whizzing around the room. Several buried themselves in the tables, and a few found unintended marks in Marines still exposed above cover. Alberich lowered the Jotun Dagger as the attack subsided, scowling. 

“Are none of you going to come out to fight?”

“You can fight me, pirate,” came a voice from behind him. Alberich looked over his shoulder to find a huge marine ducking through the doorway to the mess hall. A heavy winter coat was draped over his broad shoulders, and snow fell off of his heavy boots in frozen chunks. He was the very image of the old, fat military man preparing for retirement, but Alberich knew better than to calculate an opponent’s strength based on their appearance alone. 

“It’s the Commodore,” whispered a Marine. 

“Things are getting serious!” gasped another.

“I’m Commodore Visegrip,” said the huge man as he rose to his full height inside the mess hall, towering over Alberich. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, attacking a Marine base with one ship.”

“Of course we have a lot of nerve,” said Alberich with confidence. “We’re pirates.”

“I’ve fought enough pirates to know that guts like those are a combination of strong drinks and weak judgment. I intend on sobering you up,” said Visegrip, popping his knuckles.

Alberich hoisted his Jotun Dagger over his shoulder. “Bring it,” he grunted.

Visegrip charged forwards, swinging a massive fist down. Alberich darted to the side as Visegrip’s hand shattered the tile flooring and cracked the concrete underneath. A shockwave erupted from the point of impact, forcing Alberich away. The pirate quickly drove his sword into the floor again, arresting his movement. His opponent was more than he appeared-- that punch had been imbued with Armament Haki. It wasn’t very common for officers of his rank to have mastered such abilities. Alberich smiled.  _ This _ was the kind of challenge he had been waiting for. He ripped the Jotun Dagger upwards and rushed back towards the huge Marine. He turned his greatsword vertically and raised it as he ran.

“Isa,” Alberich roared, throwing himself into the air and channeling his momentum into a downward swing. Visegrip lifted his heavy forearm to intercept the pirate warrior. As the blade found its mark, a wave of force exploded forth, scattering the gathered marines and their makeshift barricades. Alberich, still suspended by his greatsword, looked down. His attack had failed to scratch the Commodore, despite it striking his bare forearm. Visegrip shifted beneath him, and Alberich felt an immense weight collide with his chest. With his other arm, the Commodore swung forwards and clamped a hand closed around the average-sized pirate, pinning his sword to his side.

“So you’re from Elbaf, huh,” said Visegrip. His eyebrows, which extended far beyond the sides of his face, were frozen at the ends, causing them to twitch up and down visibly as he spoke. 

“Raised there,” Alberich winced. 

Visegrip frowned. “Those Giants are a warlike people. Always looking for a fight. I guess they taught you that. It’s no surprise you turned out the way you did.”

Alberich struggled to move his arms below the huge fingers holding him in place. With one hand, he slowly turned the Jotun Dagger. “What’s-- ngh-- that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a senseless cycle. You throw yourself at battles over and over until you die, unconcerned with who you hurt or why. But I suppose if you had any sense, you wouldn’t be a pirate.”

“The words of a coward… don’t mean much to me,” said Alberich with a smile. 

“Call me what you will,” said Visegrip gravely. “You’ll be dead soon.” 

Alberich had nearly moved his sword into position when he felt the hand around him begin to change. The Commodore’s fingers began to press into the pirate’s side, developing a hardened texture. Chitin pressed up out of Visegrip’s face as his eyebrows lengthened and swung forwards. His already-bulky frame grew even larger as his forearms became massive claws. Smaller, spine-like arms emerged from his sides and folded up over his gut.

“A Zoan type,” Alberich observed.

“The Crab-Crab fruit, model Yashigani,” Visegrip intoned. “My claws can snap cannons in half. Let’s see what they do with your body.”

Alberich would have liked more time to ensure the success of his strategy, but time was a luxury he didn’t have. Visegrip’s claw had cut off feeling to his arms, but he could still move them. With a blind spasm, he forced his greatsword upwards, wedging its width between Visegrip’s propodus and dactyl. He channeled his own Haki into the blade, reinforcing it as he twisted it sideways, prying the claw open enough for him to fall through to the ground, bringing the sword with him. The pirate pushed himself back up quickly, ignoring the pain of his injuries. 

“That was clever,” Visegrip growled. “But don’t think you can outsmart me. I’m not going to just let you barge in here and disrupt our quiet little base with pirate antics. You’ll leave here without some limbs, in a casket or in chains. How long you keep resisting decides which!”

Alberich readied the Jotun Dagger once more. This would be the worthy battle he was waiting for. 

* * *

Holland scampered up over the piping again. “Uh, hand me the wrench.”

“Requesting clarification: Size?” asked Whitehead, looking down into the mink’s toolbox.

“That one, on the left,” Holland said, pointing. Whitehead retrieved the correct wrench and handed it to the mechanic, who dropped back over the piping to access the diverter valve. G-11’s heating system was never going to have an exact replica of the  _ Revenge Spiral _ ’s A/C compressor, but it did contain enough parts for him to scrounge together a facsimile. The diverter valve would be particularly useful. He squeezed down through the nest of pipes that contained the valve and began working at the bolts that secured it in place.

“Just yell if something goes wrong up there, Whitehead,” he shouted as he loosened the first bolt.

“Interjection: I am yelling,” said Whitehead, her voice devoid of enthusiasm as usual. Annoyed, Holland scrambled back up to the surface, only to duck back behind the pipe when he saw the squad of Marines flooding into the room.

“Shit,” he swore as he ducked back down. “Just keep ‘em busy. You know, violently.”

The marines filling into the boiler room quickly spotted Whitehead, who was not trying to hide. They surrounded her position in front of the diverter valve access and kept their distance.

“Wait,  _ that’s  _ one of the pirates?” asked one.

“Looks like somebody’s kid or something,” said another.

“Hey,” said a third, “identify yourself!”

Whitehead looked up and surveyed the Marines. Her sensors detected thirty-one soldiers armed with rifles, and of those thirty-one, ten carried swords. None of them had a doriki above 11, according to her analytics. Keeping them busy would not be a challenge.

“Answer: I am Experimental Pacifista 3, designation Whitehead,” she replied.

A nearby marine lowered his rifle. “A Pacifista? That doesn’t make much sense. Those are supposed to be huge, and look like the former Warlord, Kuma!”

“Explanation: My conversion into a living weapon was performed outside of serial production, to custom specifications.”

“This kid sounds like a real smart-ass,” said a marine wearing his cap sideways. He drew his saber from its sheath and pointed towards the child. “Hey, didn’t you ever learn to respect your elders? Maybe we should teach her a lesson.”

“Hey, hold on, Shear,” said a soldier nearby. “It might sound crazy, but that bounty poster really  _ did _ say she was a Pacifista!”

Shear broke rank and advanced on Whitehead, seemingly unfazed. “Bounty posters get shit wrong all the time. And more than half of what pirates say about themselves ain’t true. We’ll test those claims, right here.” Shear swung his saber at the girl, and when she didn’t cower or jump away from the attack, he realized his mistake. Whitehead only raised her right hand and caught his wrist before he could complete the slash. 

“Oh… oh shit,” he swore.

Whitehead turned her attention towards the Marine, the dim light of the boiler room glaring off her round glasses. “Rebuttal: All of my statements were true. Recommendation: Brace for impact.”

With a brutal crack, Whitehead flipped the Marine off his feet and slammed his body to the floor. Shear did not move, nor gasp in pain. A pool of blood began to form beneath him.

“Query: Are further demonstrations required?”

Holland peeked out through the gap between the pipes and the floor.

“That’s Whitehead for you,” he said to himself. “She really hates it when you don’t listen to her. I guess she was programmed to be bossy or something.”

The cyborg looked back towards the pipes while the Marines cowered, and Holland ducked back down to avoid her gaze.

“On second thought… I had better keep her on our side,” he said as he returned to his work. He wiped a few drops of cold sweat from his forehead and wrenched on.


End file.
